


The Boyfriend Angle

by fabrega



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blackwatch Era, Boats and Ships, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Hawaii, M/M, Undercover as a Couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-24 13:00:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14955170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fabrega/pseuds/fabrega
Summary: The sun is warm, the breeze is refreshing, and Jesse McCree is pretending to be his trophy boyfriend. If Gabe closes his eyes, he can pretend, just for a moment, that this is the nice trip to Hawaii he'd been hoping for.





	The Boyfriend Angle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [smarshtastic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/smarshtastic/gifts).



> Blackwatch Week Day 1: Plan A / Plan B
> 
> Thanks, always and forever, to [smarshtastic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/smarshtastic/).

Gabe's not sure why he'd thought a mission in Hawaii would be _nice_. The places Blackwatch goes are never nice, and even when the places are nice, the things they do there aren't. Their last mission to what ought to have been a vacation destination hadn't been sand and sun and surf, all the bullshit from the brochures; it had been skulking in back-alleys and cover of darkness and no small amount of murder. Hawaii isn't going to be _nice_. 

They're here to take down a smuggling ring, Gabe undercover with McCree and Valdez while Edwards guides the whole thing from their mobile base of operations (which is a very fancy way of saying "van" but makes Edwards feel more important). Gabe is playing himself, or a version of himself--Gabriel Reyes, hero of the Omnic Crisis who's let that go to his head, an asshole who thinks humanity owes him and behaves accordingly. It's exhausting, but the clout that comes with his name and his face opens a lot of doors for him that would otherwise require force. Plus, that same clout means that the people he uses it on are less likely to be believed after the fact--Gabriel Reyes, hero of the Omnic Crisis, the one who killed all your business partners and bombed the warehouses used by your perfectly legitimate enterprise? That seems pretty far-fetched. _Guy might be an asshole_ , people say, _but he's a hero_ , and who are you gonna believe: the leader of some drug cartel, or the guy who saved humanity?

Gabe's been invited by the leader of the smuggling ring, a guy named Kekoa, to a big party being held at his villa. McCree and Valdez will be attending as Gabe's entourage. Their intel says that a lot of the major players will be there, and the plan is to find the one who'll break and break them. They need to get information about a big shipment they know is coming in. If they can get their hands on the shipment, in-flight or even just once it's arrived, they'll be able to tie it back to Kekoa and bring the whole thing down.

The party is, unsurprisingly, loud and overcrowded. No, Hawaii isn't going to be nice; Gabe takes a deep breath and wades into the fray. Edwards has hacked the feeds from the security guards' personal cams, and he directs the three of them around the room to people of interest. Gabe doesn't expect to make much progress personally--he _is_ the famous one, after all--but he talks to a couple of people who Edwards tells him are thought to have a financial stake in the smuggling operation and makes his way towards Kekoa when someone steps directly into his path.

"There you are!" the man says loudly and cheerfully, grabbing onto Gabe's arm hard. "I've been looking all over for you!" He pulls Gabe into a close embrace and plants a kiss on his cheek.

Gabe stops, stunned by how forward this guy is. The man pulls back, far enough for Gabe to get a good look at him but still too close in Gabe's personal space. He's lithe, shorter than Gabe but still tall, with dark hair and dark eyes and a bright, winsome smile.

Gabe fights conflicting urges: to like this guy and to punch him. There's only so far that the Asshole Gabe Reyes persona lets him go, and it's not worth risking getting thrown out of here before they have the intel they need.

On the comm in his ear, he hears Edwards say, "Somebody get eyes on the Commander, something's happening and he's in one of Security's blind spots."

"I think you have me mistaken for someone else," Gabe says to the guy.

He gets another dazzling smile in return. "You say that now, but--" the guy begins. Then Gabe feels a hand on the small of his back, and he and the guy both turn to see McCree.

"Everything okay here?" McCree asks, sliding into Gabe's space too. The bodyguard angle, Gabe assumes, since they hadn't really defined "entourage" roles for McCree or Valdez so that they could play whatever part they needed--and then McCree snakes an arm around Gabe's waist and gives the guy a possessive look.

Okay. _Okay_. The boyfriend angle. His competent and handsome best agent has chosen the boyfriend angle. Gabe is... Gabe is fine. Gabe can work with this. 

"Yeah, we're okay here," the guy answers before Gabe can figure out how to make his mouth do words. He's still smiling, but now it doesn't quite reach his eyes. He tries to tug Gabe a little closer, but McCree's grip on him is very tight.

"Got visual on Reyes and McCree now," Edwards says in Gabe's ear. "Who _is_ this guy? He's not coming up on any of our guest lists."

McCree gives the guy the iciest look Gabe thinks he's ever seen. The guy takes a step back, still in Gabe's space, but not on his arm anymore. McCree opens his mouth to speak, and so of course this is the moment Kekoa chooses to push his way through the crowd and over to Gabe.

"Strike Commander! So glad you could make it to my little soiree!" Kekoa's tone is jovial, his speech accompanied by broad waving of his hands, but it's the kind of cheerful that Gabe can tell is one wrong move away from going sharp and dangerous, a placid surface with monsters lurking below.

Gabe makes all the requisite noises, flattering but not too flattering, self-absorbed but not too self-absorbed. He's very good at telling people what they expect to hear, had gotten way too good at it during the time he led Overwatch. It's part of why he didn't really want the Strike Commander job under the new UN structure, and, he assumes, part of why the UN was happy not to have him--Jack's much less likely to tell them one thing and then go off and merrily do whatever he wants instead.

It's probably a good thing that Gabe's good at this; McCree's arm is still around his waist, which is making everything else a little complicated. Gabe gives in, lets his arm settle around McCree's shoulders and pulls him close against his side. McCree, to his absolute credit, nestles in against Gabe's side like he's meant to be there. It's not distracting at all, not in the slightest.

Kekoa directs his attention to McCree and Gabe's Mystery Guy. "How are you gentlemen enjoying the party? Can my people get you anything? Drinks? Drugs? Any kind of company?"

"I'll have a beer, if you're offering," McCree says. Gabe knows that McCree knows better than to actually drink the beer, for both safety and work reasons, but having a drink in your hand keeps people from asking that question again or trying to talk you into something harder.

"The party is great!" Mystery Guy says. "This place is amazing! And I've heard a lot about your yacht?"

"Yacht?" Gabe repeats for the benefit of his comms.

Edwards sounds confused, and Gabe can hear him tapping away at his keyboard. "Whose yacht? The target's yacht?"

"He calls it _The Maximus_ ," Valdez says in his ear. "It's come up with a few of my contacts. Guy apparently loves it more than he loves his own actual mother."

Valdez is right; Kekoa seems thrilled to get an opportunity to talk about his yacht. Gabe knows nothing about yachts in particular or boats in general, so Kekoa might as well be speaking ancient Greek, but the smile and the hand-waving are genuine this time, as far as Gabe can tell. Gabe does not have to feign his aloof disinterest, although Asshole Gabe's reason is for disinterest is _this conversation has nothing to do with me_ , while Actual Gabe is just trying to figure out where all this is going and ways to steer the conversation surreptitiously back around to what they need to find out for the mission. It's tougher than it seems like it might be, because Mystery Guy also has a lot to say about yachts. He and Kekoa seem to be getting on like a house on fire.

"I'm taking her out tomorrow," Kekoa says, directing this last bit at Gabe. "You'll join me, right? You have to. There's nothing quite as relaxing as being out on the ocean. You can even bring your--" he gestures vaguely at McCree and Mystery Guy, "-- _associates_."

Mystery Guy turns to Gabe, breathless excitement on his face. "Ooh, can we?"

"I'd love to join you," Gabe says to Kekoa, because what else can he say? "As for my associates, we'll see who deserves it."

McCree chuckles and winks at Gabe, whose stomach very definitely does not do a flip.

Kekoa nods in apparent approval and gives Gabe the details of where to find his fancy yacht tomorrow, then tells them to enjoy the party and disappears into the crowd. Gabe lets himself stand there, pressed up against McCree, for a long moment.

McCree leans in closer towards Mystery Guy, not letting go of Gabe, making Mystery Guy close the distance between them so the conversation happens right in front of Gabe. "I'm afraid I didn't catch your name, friend."

Mystery Guy pauses for a second, then extends a hand. "It's Fred."

Gabe and McCree exchange a look before McCree shakes the guy's hand. 

"That doesn't sound like a made-up name at all," Edwards says on the comms. "Think he's dumb enough to follow you back to home base for questioning?"

McCree presses his mouth up against the soft spot on Gabe's neck right below his ear--a filthy little kiss, ostensibly, but McCree uses the opportunity to hide saying into the comms, "We'll see what we can do."

Valdez sounds thoughtful. "There's always force if manipulation won't work."

"We're great at both," Edwards agrees.

Gabe tries to ignore them, and also McCree laughing against his neck. He's been pressing kisses there while the others talk; Gabe can only assume that he's really trying to sell the bit. Gabe touches his arm in a way he hopes signals _you are allowed to stop now_ ; he's both glad and disappointed when McCree stops. 

"So, Fred," Gabe says, "You seemed pretty interested in our host's yacht."

"Did I?" Fred gives Gabe what is presumably his best innocent face.

Gabe snorts. "A little. So what's your deal, kid? Surely you're not just a fan of yachts."

"Can't a man like a yacht?"

"Not that much," Gabe says.

McCree adds, "Not that yacht."

Fred eyes both of them, then leans in close to Gabe. "Is there somewhere we can go where we can talk? Somewhere...private?" McCree gives him a dirty look, and Fred is quick to clarify: "It's nothing like that, just--we need to talk."

Gabe knows for a fact that the security system on this place is intense enough that whatever conversation Fred needs to have, it can't happen here, not if it is anything like Gabe is pretty sure it needs to be. "Think the party will be okay without us?" he asks McCree, although the question meant more for Edwards and Valdez. He and McCree aren't going to gather much more intel like this, and it'll mostly be on Valdez if they leave.

"I can take care of the last few assholes here if you guys need to leave," Valdez says, her voice low on the comms.

With that response, McCree nods at Gabe. "I'm ready to blow this popsicle stand if you are. You want to take him back to your place? How much of a mess did we leave it?"

Gabe makes a thoughtful face while on the comms, Edwards answers McCree's question. "Did a cleanup sweep of the place before we left. Shouldn't be anything incriminating lying around. I'll stick here with Stef. You kids have fun."

"Oh, you don't have to go to that much trouble," Fred says, trying and almost succeeding at keeping the panic from his expression. "If you don't want to talk here, you guys hungry? How about I treat you gentlemen to the best burger in town?"

"Sounds good to me," McCree says. "Gabe?"

McCree saying his first name, McCree calling him something besides 'boss', knocks him sideways in a way he doesn't expect, and it's a moment before Gabe responds, "Yeah, I could go for a burger. Let's go."

Fred calls them a car, and they all pile in. The ride to their destination is...awkward, to say the least. Gabe can tell: Fred's not dumb, and he's still running the math on _this guy saved humanity, what're the odds that he and his buddy make sure I never make it out of this car_. 

It doesn't help that McCree is still playing up the possessive boytoy thing; he's got an arm around Gabe's shoulder and he's nearly in Gabe's lap, and Gabe really, really can't complain. His closeness makes Gabe bold, and he lets his hand settle on McCree's thigh, lets his fingers trace mindless, needy patterns there. McCree leans into the touch and gives him a knowing grin. But he can't know, can he? It's all part of the act--if he really was Gabe's, uh, associate, he'd know exactly what that meant, what Gabe was going to do to him when the evening was over. Surely that's all that grin means.

The burger place, when they get there, is a hole-in-the-wall that Gabe would've missed if they'd been walking past it. That tells Gabe that Fred is probably a local, another fact to add to his slowly coalescing picture of who Fred is and what he might want. And he's not wrong about the burgers either; Gabe's real used to Blackwatch cafeteria food and whatever he can scrounge up undercover, and comparatively, this burger is a goddamn _revelation_. Gabe feels like he melts a little as he bites into it, and the noise McCree makes when he tries his is a little bit obscene.

"Should've told you kids to have a little bit less fun," Edwards says on the comms, and McCree chokes on his burger, Fred thumping his back while he coughs.

"So what did we need to talk about?" Gabe asks once they've all made good progress on their burgers.

Fred looks between them, then says, low and careful, "You know that Kekoa isn't a good dude, right?"

Gabe shrugs. He is, in fact, aware of this--it's why Blackwatch is here--but he wants to see where Fred is going with it before he shows any of his own cards.

"Like, really not a good dude," Fred continues. "He's got an illegal smuggling thing going on, drugs and weapons, dangerous stuff."

"Nice of you to look out for us," Gabe says. Whatever this kid is doing, he's in way over his head. "So I assume you want to come along tomorrow on the yacht to make sure we don't get hurt, out of the goodness of your heart?"

"It _is_ very kind of me," Fred agrees, shoveling fries into his mouth. "But no, you guys seem like you can probably take care of yourselves--you especially, Strike Commander."

"So you're just a fan of yachts?"

"No, I'm..." Fred trails off. He looks around furtively, then leans in close to Gabe and McCree and whispers, "I'm a secret agent. I'm undercover right now, trying to take down this smuggling ring."

"You're a secret agent?" Gabe repeats for the comms.

Valdez snorts in his ear. "There is _literally_ no way that's true. We triple-checked the jurisdictions before we started this job."

"Yes, for Overwatch," Fred continues.

McCree manages to play off his shock at the brazenness of this lie as wondering surprise. "What, like the Overwatch that Gabe used to work for?"

"Things have really changed there since you retired, Strike Commander," Fred says, nodding sagely. "We're still out here making the world a better place, the missions just look a little different."

"Oh, buddy," Valdez says with a laugh. 

They can hear Edwards tapping away at his keyboard; presumably he's checking the Overwatch database see if there's anything or anybody even remotely like Fred or what he's describing anywhere on the roster. "I bet he's gonna tell you that you could call Overwatch and ask about him, but they wouldn't be allowed to tell you because he's undercover."

Gabe does his best to hide a smile, thinks angry thoughts and keeps the corners of his mouth turned down. "So you need to be on that yacht tomorrow to take down this smuggling ring?"

Fred nods. "I don't normally ask civilians to help me on my missions like this, but you're hardly a civilian, Strike Commander." That's truer than Fred knows, Gabe thinks, preening like Asshole Gabe would at the flattery. 

He and McCree exchange a brief look, and somehow manage to have the whole conversation in that brief, shared glance: Gabe knows they shouldn't introduce this kind of variable into their plans this late in the game, and McCree knows that he knows, but McCree also knows that Gabe's _intrigued_ , wants to see how this whole goddamn thing plays out. It's nowhere near their Plan A, but hell, Plan B is where Blackwatch lives.

They work out the details of where Fred can meet them tomorrow and what the expectations are--Kekoa had found both Fred and McCree close in Gabe's space, had referred to both of them as Gabe's "associates" with leering air-quotes, and so it makes some amount of sense that both of them will stick close in Gabe's space again tomorrow.

"If that's okay with you, of course. I know that you two are..." Fred trails off, looking anxiously at McCree.

McCree looks sidelong at Gabe and grins. "I mean, if _Overwatch_ wants me to share him, who am I to say no?"

.

They part ways with Fred outside the burger place, and McCree gets a car back to the rental house that's serving as their base of operations while Gabe does a preliminary check-in with Valdez and Edwards. It sounds like Valdez has made some headway on the intel they still needed to get at the party, and Edwards and the van are going to stick around outside the villa until she's done. They'll all debrief for real once they make it back to the house.

The car ride back to the rental house is almost more awkward than the one to the burger place had been. The space between them feels like too much; McCree is too quiet, and Gabe doesn't know how or what to say or ask to fix it.

The rental house isn't anything special. They'd gone back and forth trying to hit that sweet spot between the space they actually needed, the kind of accommodations Asshole Gabe would expect, and their budget for this mission. They'd ended up here, a little place that undoubtedly wanted to sell itself on its proximity to a cute local market and the pretty-nice pool in its back yard, but which they'd picked mostly because it had enough space for Gabe's agents to all sleep comfortably. When they get inside, McCree pulls his comm earpiece out and sets it on the table, then motions for Gabe to do the same. Gabe hesitates for a moment before doing so; Valdez and Edwards are incredibly competent and can undoubtedly take care of themselves for a few minutes.

"I wanted to make sure that you were okay with, with--" McCree waves his hands vaguely, "--with all this. We didn't plan for me to play this angle, and I didn't even ask you if it was okay."

"You're doing great, McCree," Gabe says, casting his voice low and gruff so he doesn't sound _too_ earnest. "You did exactly what the mission needed, and you didn't even hesitate."

McCree laughs. "I hesitated a little bit." He steps into Gabe's space again, and it feels different this time, sharper, closer, more dangerous and real.

"You shouldn't," Gabe says, and he means _shouldn't hesitate_ , but the open look on McCree's face slams closed instantly. The space between them yawns wide and insurmountable; the feeling in Gabe's gut is something like mourning.

"I'm gonna go for a swim," McCree says, heading back into the house. "Seems a shame to rent a house with a pool and then not use it."

"You brought a swimsuit on our secret undercover mission?"

McCree shrugs. "I brought _two_ swimsuits, boss, to Hawaii. You never know how these things are gonna go. Besides, sounds like it's a good thing I did--what else does a trophy boyfriend wear on a yacht?" With that, he's gone, and Gabe is alone.

Gabe puts his comm earpiece back in, takes a seat on the sofa and listens to his agents, Edwards chattering at Valdez and Valdez quietly and coolly shutting him down. McCree comes back through the living room in a pair of patterned yellow swim trunks, and Gabe does his best not to watch through the sliding glass door as McCree floats in lazy circles in the pool just outside.

He comes in and towels off when the others arrive, and the debrief goes smoothly. One of Valdez's contacts let slip that he knows that the shipment coming in tomorrow is something _big_ , and Edwards had cross-referenced that guy's GPS location pings with the approximate dates of last three shipments Blackwatch knows about and found a warehouse district where it's likely the shipment will end up. The two of them are going to follow up on that lead tomorrow while Gabe and McCree play nice with Kekoa on his yacht.

Edwards looks fidgety, and eventually Gabe prods him about it. He wants his agents to speak up when they have concerns, because nobody is above criticism, not even him, and collaboration and addressing concerns is the best way to make sure the mission gets done and everybody gets home safe.

Edwards sighs and leans forward onto the kitchen island where they've spread out all their intel. "Are you sure this is the best use of your time? Whatever's happening with this kid--who, by the way, is nowhere to be found in Overwatch's records--may not be related to what we're doing at all."

"Fred mentioned the smuggling ring," Gabe says.

"Yeah, but he's lying about literally everything else, so why would that one thing be true?"

Gabe starts to respond, but McCree cuts him off. "Call it a hunch."

Edwards snorts and throws his hands up. "God forbid we go against one of Jesse McCree's infamous hunches."

Valdez nudges him. "One of those hunches saved your ass in Poland two weeks ago."

The debrief descends into good-natured ribbing, and Gabe takes that as his cue to retreat. He's taken over one of the house's bedrooms as his own personal base of operations, and he's still sitting up in there an hour later, looking over maps of the warehouse district Edwards had found, when McCree sticks his head in the door.

"Big day tomorrow. Anything you need from me before I turn in?" He smiles at Gabe, and Gabe can't help but smile back. There's a pause, too long of a pause, and Gabe tries to figure out  what the right answer is to McCree's question. When he fails, McCree huffs a laugh and says, "G'night, Gabe."

(Gabe wishes he could say he doesn't lie awake that night thinking about his name in McCree's mouth, but that would be a lie.)

.

Gabe is up the next morning bright and early, throwing together his best asshole-on-a-yacht outfit (he has loafers and sunglasses and he's still waffling on the polo shirt) before heading out to see what his agents are up to. He finds Valdez in workout clothes, doing calisthenics in the living room while McCree, in pajama pants and a tank top and a truly epic case of bedhead, pours two big mugs of coffee on the kitchen island. He slides one across the countertop to Gabe, who takes it gratefully.

"Anybody seen Edwards yet this morning?" he asks, a little ways into his coffee.

Valdez shakes her head. "We're heading out a little later, though. The opportunities for a little extra shut-eye are few and far between, so I figured he could sleep a little late this morning."

Well, Gabe can't argue with that. By that logic, he's not sure what she's doing up this early, or for that matter what _he's_ doing up this early. He sips his coffee, leaning on the island, and contemplates this mystery. McCree takes the other mug of coffee and slides up next to him, in his space but not too close, and they stand quietly and drink together.

When McCree heads back to his room to get dressed for the day, Valdez stops mid-stretch and fixes Gabe with a look. "Be careful today," she says.

"We always are," Gabe says, which they both know is a lie. He absolutely deserves the eyeroll he gets in return.

Soon enough it's time to head out. A car takes them to the spot where they'd arranged to pick up Fred, outside one of the resorts on the edge of town, and then takes the three of them to the marina where they're going to meet Kekoa.

Gabe has to admit--the yacht is nice. It's a sleek, white thing with gold trim and a beautiful hardwood deck and tall, sweeping sails. Gabe feigns the right amount of disinterest while McCree pretends to be _fascinated_ by the yacht, so Kekoa takes Fred and McCree below decks for the grand tour while Gabe stays on the deck, ostensibly lounging in the sun and watching the ocean. He may actually be surreptitiously scoping out Kekoa's bodyguards: there's two of them on deck, big guys with no visible weapons who look dangerous regardless. When McCree gets back, he nestles up into Gabe's lap, takes Gabe's hand and taps once on the inside of Gabe's wrist with his thumb--just one more guy below. Gabe kisses McCree's jaw twice, telling himself it's once for each guard above and not just because he wants to. McCree grins at him, turns his head and plants a kiss right on Gabe's lips.

Gabe could really get used to this undercover thing.

It's a nice day. The sun is warm, the breeze is refreshing, and Jesse McCree is pretending to be his trophy boyfriend. If Gabe closes his eyes, he can pretend, just for a moment, that this is the nice trip to Hawaii he'd been hoping for.

He keeps waiting for Fred to make whatever his move is going to be, whatever fake thing is supposed to advance his fake mission to take down the smuggling ring, but Fred stays mostly quiet. He crowds into Gabe's space too, leans against him and makes doe eyes at him and McCree both. Gabe manages not to laugh at this, but only because years of undercover work and meetings have made him very, very good at keeping a straight face.

Eventually, the sails come down and they come to a stop, the water below them clear and blue. Kekoa asks if anybody is up for a swim, and McCree volunteers almost immediately. He peels himself out of the shorts and tank top he'd donned for the mission, and Gabe reasons with himself that if McCree really _was_ his trophy boyfriend, he'd watch him disrobe appreciatively, enjoying the show, so he lets himself stare a little--like he wants to--and tries not to feel too bad about it. He expects McCree to be wearing the yellow swim trunks underneath, but no, this must be his second swimsuit, a bright red, barely-there speedo that leaves very little to the imagination. _Now_ Gabe tries not to stare, shifting awkwardly in his seat in an attempt to hide how into this he is--although McCree catches his eye and gives him a broad, flirty wink before diving off the side of the boat and into the calm water below. Almost involuntarily, everyone left on the yacht moves to the side where McCree had leapt off and peers down over the railing. 

Fred jumps in after him, a little delayed, his own clothes shed to reveal dark swim trunks and a surprisingly sculpted chest. He grins at Kekoa before he dives, and Gabe does not miss the way Kekoa grins back at him. Gabe watches Kekoa watching the two of them instead of daring to look down himself; eventually, Kekoa looks up at Gabe with an impressed look on his face. "You are a lucky guy, friend," Kekoa tells him, and Gabe can't help but agree.

One of Kekoa's men steps back from the railing and pulls a phone out of his pocket, steps back below deck to take a call. He comes back after a minute and taps Kekoa on the shoulder, muttering apologetically as Kekoa makes an annoyed face at him. He leans in to whisper in Kekoa's ear, and Kekoa listens to him and then swears loudly.

"Gentlemen," he calls down to Fred and McCree, "I'm afraid we need to move on." As they climb on board, he continues, "I hope you'll forgive me, but some unexpected important business has come up. As soon as it's taken care of, we can get back to enjoying our day."

"Is everything okay?" Fred asks, wide-eyed, as he towels off.

"Oh, certainly. Nothing you need to worry about," Kekoa is quick to assure them. "We won't even have to go ashore. It's just--business. You know how it is."

Gabe definitely does know how Kekoa's business is, that much is true. He wonders briefly how Valdez and Edwards are doing. He wouldn't be surprised if their part of the mission is the source of Kekoa's current headache.

The business Kekoa has to take care of turns out to be a small cargo ship that the yacht swings up alongside, allowing Kekoa and two of his guards to climb from one craft to the other. 

Gabe stays where he is, watching the remaining guard out of the corner of his eye while McCree whines loudly that the larger craft is blocking the sun. Kekoa had told them that there was a drinks bar below decks and that they were welcome to partake, and so Fred declares it is definitely time for a drink and disappears below. The guard looks torn. Does he follow Fred? Does he keep an eye on Gabe and McCree? Kekoa and his guards have vanished from view on the other boat, and so Gabe makes up the last guard's mind for him, standing, stretching, and then grabbing the guy and very precisely knocking him out. He goes down like a sack of potatoes.

They hear Kekoa's raised voice from the other ship. "I don't _care_ what they say is happening at the docks! There's a lot of money riding on this delivery, and you are going to make it on time or else!" There's a pause; Gabe can only assume somebody was stupid enough to ask _or else what_ because then Kekoa shouts, even more loudly, "Or else I'll kill you all myself!"

Oh, good.

Gabe gets his comm out, snaps pictures of the boat they're alongside as evidence. McCree is already most of the way up the ladder on the side of the cargo ship, and Gabe can see him snapping photos of what's on-deck. He shimmies back down and shows Gabe his handiwork: there's Kekoa and his guys, looming ominously over five cowering omnics, with shipping containers in both the foreground and background. One of the close ones is open slightly, and you can see what are obviously crates of weapons inside. McCree swipes over to the next photo, and it's obvious he's switched camera modes; the IRID tag on each of the containers is clearly visible, and Gabe is certain that if he has Edwards check them against the official manifests, they'll be listed as full of something else. 

Gabe can't believe their luck. This is all the proof they need to nail Kekoa to the fucking wall. Now, all they have to do is get Kekoa to take them back to shore and put their pictures together with what Valdez and Edwards have undoubtedly gathered, submit their reports, and wait for this asshole to end up in jail. McCree nudges into his shoulder, grinning, and Gabe grins back.

The yacht's sails unfurl and the engine purrs alive. Gabe staggers on his feet at the sudden movement, surprised, before regaining his footing and rushing below deck. McCree's right behind him, and they find Fred at the boat's control console. 

He looks incredibly pleased with himself.

"What the hell? What did you do?" McCree says, shoving Fred out of the way. 

"I stole Kekoa's yacht. Duh." Fred watches with amusement as McCree taps frantically at the screen. "I've already set the course, and it's biometrically locked in. You can't change it. We're going to meet my buyer, we're going to get rid of this ship, and then my truly _ridiculous_ amount of money and I are going to go someplace where Kekoa and his goons can't ever find me."

"What about the smuggling ring?" Gabe asks. He meets McCree's eyes as McCree looks up; they're not going to drop their own act, not yet. McCree gives him the barest nod of acknowledgment and goes back to tapping at the console.

"What about it?" Fred laughs. "You didn't really think I was with Overwatch, did you? I'm sure it hasn't gone downhill enough since you left to take a guy like me."

"You'd be surprised," McCree says, and he hits Fred across the jaw. The first punch is hard enough to spin him around, and the uppercut that follows it puts him officially out of commission.

Gabe turns his attention back to the console. "He did say the course was biometrically locked, right?" McCree nods, and simultaneously, they turn to look at Fred's body on the floor. 

They bring the yacht back to where Kekoa had left it. They'd found some rope in one of the bedrooms below deck--Gabe is very purposely not thinking about why there had been rope in the bedroom, he is _not_ thinking about it--and tied Fred up, left him on deck next to the guard Gabe had knocked out. Kekoa is peering down over the side of the cargo ship, incandescently furious, and Gabe's not one hundred percent certain that he believes the story they tell him about how Fred had knocked out the guard and tried to steal the yacht. Still, nobody's unhappy, and the unconscious guard is still unconscious when they get back to the marina, so Gabe is counting this as a win.

"Let me handle him," Kekoa says as Gabe hauls Fred, still tied up, onto the pier. "It was my property that he tried to steal."

"This seems like something the police should handle," Gabe says, pulling his comm out and pinging Edwards instead. He's pretty sure that Kekoa has an in with local law enforcement; there's no way his smuggling could have continued as long as it has without some kind of agreement that people would look the other way.

Thankfully, Edwards answers his comm quickly. "Boss, what's up? You would not _believe_ the day we've had--"

"Hello, police?" Gabe says, cutting him off.

Edwards pauses. "Uh, okay?"

"We need you to send a squad car down to the marina. We caught a man trying to steal one of the yachts here."

"A squad car? Seriously? Where the hell am I supposed to get a squad car--"

"We'll wait. Thanks," Gabe says, and he hangs up. He turns back to Kekoa, who looks like he's trying and failing to come up with a way to argue with the capital-H Hero about not turning a criminal over to the police. "We should be all set."

Gabe stops, fighting the urge to apologize for bringing somebody onto Kekoa's beloved yacht who'd try to steal it. Actual Gabe Reyes would apologize for that; Asshole Gabe Reyes would not. Kekoa seems like he's expecting an apology, though, and so they remain there, in a silent, angry standoff until Edwards pulls up fifteen minutes later in a police squad car. Gabe does not know where Edwards found a squad car and a matching, mostly-fitting police uniform, and he is a little afraid to ask. They shuffle Fred into the back of the car and take him away.

"Time to go?" McCree asks him, slipping up under his arm to press against his side.

"Yeah," Gabe says. He takes a deep breath, holds onto this feeling. "Time to go."

.

Gabe sets the file folder down on the table and takes a seat across from Fred, who has handcuffs on his wrists and a sour look on his face. McCree's in the room too, leaning up against the wall, within eyeshot but not participating. Gabe flips the folder open, flips through the pages inside it. Fred is very pointedly not looking at either of them, and Gabe can't resist--he asks, "You didn't really think I wasn't still with Overwatch, did you?"

Fred makes a dissatisfied noise and shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

"Fred Shiga," Gabe reads out of the file. At the sound of his name, Fred looks up. "Twenty three years old. Born and raised in Hawaii. Thief, scammer, all-around grifter, with a surprising lack of a criminal record. Says here that any time you were arrested, you managed to talk your way out of it." And that's true: Gabe had been impressed with what they'd found when they'd finally put a name to the kid's face. The list of stuff he'd gotten away with, the things he'd conned people out of with little to no consequence, was almost unbelievable. It seems like he'd only gotten caught this time because he'd tried to take on actual black ops agents, which isn't a knock on his skills so much as it is a testament to their own.

"I never hurt anybody," Fred says. "Sure, I stole a bunch of stuff, but I never hurt anybody."

Gabe looks over at McCree, then back at Fred seriously. "Would you like to?"

"I'm sorry, what?"

"We're not arresting you," McCree says, finally joining the conversation.

Gabe nods. "You've got a gift, kid. We're offering you a job."

"You're joking, right? Overwatch doesn't take people like me."

"It doesn't take people like me either," McCree says, giving him a lazy grin.

Gabe leans across the table to unlock Fred's handcuffs. "No, but Blackwatch does."

.

There's a knock at Gabe's office door later that afternoon. Gabe's neck deep in paperwork that has to be done just right; Morrison is not going to be happy when he finds out that Gabe wants to recruit another young criminal they'd picked up on an op. Gabe can already hear the lecture, already knows that it'll end with him promising, however seriously, not to make a habit of this sort of thing.

Still, he'll welcome a distraction now, and he says _come in_ and looks up to see McCree standing in the doorway. Gabe gets to his feet to greet him, a little unsure of where they stand after the whole Hawaii mission, and McCree comes just far enough into the office to let the door close behind him.

"Do we need to talk?" McCree asks.

Gabe stops and looks at him, a little confused. "You tell me."

McCree's jaw works for a moment, and Gabe stays quiet, fascinated. It feels like any sudden movement might startle McCree away, and god, he doesn't want that.

"That night after the party, when I told you I hesitated and you said that I shouldn't, what did you mean? What shouldn't I do?"

Gabe waits, looks away, tries to figure out how to answer that. He knows what the answer ought to be, because of his position, because of the rules, because his competent and handsome best agent deserves better than this. He also knows what he _wants_ the answer to be. He likes McCree, a lot more than he should. It snuck up on him over the years they've spent working together, as McCree went from a recruit to an agent to a partner to a friend; he looked up one day and realized, _oh_. He's spent a lot of time thinking about McCree since they got back, about the way they'd fit together, about when McCree had kissed him. The prospect of never getting that again? Well--

"Gabe?"

He looks back, and McCree has closed the distance between them.

"You shouldn't hesitate. Not undercover, and not--"

McCree grabs his face and kisses him.

"Yeah, not then either, good work," Gabe says, when McCree finally pulls away. McCree laughs, and Gabe kisses him again.

Turns out the mission to Hawaii was actually kind of nice. Who knew?


End file.
